


Wakeful Words

by SmileAndASong



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 17:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileAndASong/pseuds/SmileAndASong
Summary: For the first time in six months, Clark is not there waiting when Bruce comes up to bed.





	Wakeful Words

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing SuperBat, and it's also unbeta'd, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read!

After several months of dating, Clark and Bruce have successfully slipped into a nighttime routine. 

Clark was always the first one in bed, usually a good few hours before Bruce. He would never go to sleep until Bruce came up to bed, despite Bruce’s insistence time and time again that waiting up was unnecessary. Clark would just watch TV, or read a book, or leaf through some drafts for the Daily Planet that he wasn’t supposed to be working on off the clock. But the moment Bruce came through the door, he would abandon whatever he was working on or doing, and then he would smile that goofy, endearing farm-boy smile of his. 

The inane smile somehow wasn’t a turnoff for Bruce. On the contrary, it typically segued into Bruce throwing himself onto Clark for a quick bout of intimacy before they both fell asleep, still nude and still comfortably tangled up in one another.

But tonight, upon opening the door to the bedroom, there was not a groggy, amorous Clark Kent awaiting his arrival. Instead, he was greeted by the unsettling sight of nothingness. The bed was still pristinely made up from Alfred’s handiwork earlier in the day, and there was nothing indicating that the Man of Steel had been in the room at all. 

Bruce frowned and sat on the edge of the bed -- Clark’s side, on the left. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his messages. There weren’t any new ones, and the last one that he had from Clark left him with a disconcerting feeling:

_Don’t work too hard and don’t keep me waiting up all night. I’ll see you later ; ) - CK_

Clark had told Bruce he was coming, Clark had asked Bruce not to stay out too late, and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. 

It was probably nothing. Luthor was likely just keeping Superman busy with some late night turmoil for a change. But really, with everything else that Clark texted Bruce on a daily basis -- what he was having for lunch, work-related gossip, the same unfunny memes that Dick also enjoyed -- surely he would have the decency to text if he wasn’t coming. 

Unless he was in a situation where he _couldn’t_ text. 

Bruce’s face tightened and he rose to his feet. He didn’t have any concrete evidence to support his hunch which, as a world-renowned detective, was not something that he ever condoned. But his fatigued mind was picturing a thousand different scenarios -- predominantly Kryptonite related ones -- of Clark in danger, and he wasn’t about to sit idle and let one of those come to fruition. 

He clamored to his feet and started to head to the Cave. He had to alert the League of his suspicions regarding Superman’s disappearance. It also wouldn’t hurt to do a quick scan of Metropolis in Batmobile, check out some of Luthor’s known--

 _Tap, tap, tap_

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks, glancing in the direction of where the noise was coming from. The window. 

And there was only one person who could -- or would want to -- reach his second-floor window. 

Bruce pulled back the thick curtains, and low and behold, there he was — Clark Kent, unharmed, and exhibiting no signs of Kryptonite exposure. His red cape was billowing behind him, his black hair slightly tousled from the flight over, and he was smiling that charming, farm boy smile of his. He looked positively picturesque against the night’s sky, resembling one of the countless monuments that the city of Metropolis erected of him every other week. 

Bruce was far too blinded by his frustration (and exhaustion) to appreciate the immaculate sight. He still opened the window, grudgingly, suppressing a petty desire to drop the curtain on Clark's face and walk away.

“Hi,” Clark greeted casually, like everything was fine and dandy. Like Bruce hadn’t just been on the verge of beginning an intergalactic search for him. “Sorry I’m late. You wouldn’t believe the air traffic this time of night. I--”

“Do you really think I have a sense of humor at this hour?” Bruce interrupted.

“Do you have a sense of humor at any hour?” Clark quipped, smirking.

“Where were you? Why are you so late?” Bruce scolded, speaking in what was usually reserved as his ‘Dad’ voice for when one of the boys -- usually Damian -- disobeyed him.

“There were some unfinished stories for tomorrow’s paper. Guess who got roped into completing all of them?” Clark said, not seeming the slightest bit annoyed about the unexpected overtime. “And then I did a quick patrol of the city.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seem so surprised? I sent you a text message explaining all of this.”

Bruce pulled out his cell phone, shoving it in Clark’s face. “You most certainly did not.”

Clark blinked, scrutinizing the screen for a moment before he reached into his boot and pulled out his own phone. “Whoops!” Clark tilted the screen, revealing an unsent message. “Guess I forgot to hit send.”

“Whoops indeed.” Bruce murmured, pinching his brow. “Just get inside so we can go to bed. I can still get--” He glanced over at the tacky digital clock on Clark’s nightstand. “--three hours and seventeen minutes of sleep.”

“Oh come on, are you _sure_ you want to go right to sleep?” Clark asked with a wink, arms wrapping around Bruce’s neck.

Bruce stepped away, crossing his arms. “I’m positive.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just exhausted. Will you please just come inside?” 

“Only if you tell me why you’re so mad.”

“ _Clark_ , I’m not mad!” Bruce snapped. “Now get inside before I close this window on you.” An empty threat, but maybe it would still work on Clark.

“Or we could take this outside?” Clark suggested, and Bruce knew all too well what he was implying.

Bruce opened his mouth to protest, but before he could even get the words out, muscular arms wrapped tightly around him and lifted him off the ground and out of his bedroom.

He _hated_ when Clark used Kryptonian biology against him.

“This is low even for you,” Bruce hissed, squirming relentlessly as they ascended up into the starry sky.

“Actually, I’d say we’re pretty high up,” Clark remarked, stopping when they were about twenty feet above the roof of Wayne Manor. “I’ll bring you back down if you tell me why you’re angry.”

Bruce’s struggles ceased as Clark looked him in the eye, a genuine look of concern in them. He sighed. If there was anything he hated more than Clark using super strength against him, it was Clark using those big blue eyes against him. “I mean it when I say I’m not mad at you. I was just worried that something happened to you. This is the first time in five months--”

“Six months,” Clark corrected.

“Six months, whatever,” Bruce said, more dismissive than he needed to be, but he didn’t want to lose his train of thought. He did soften his voice as he continued. “This is the first time in six months that you weren’t there when I came up to bed, and with no indication that you weren’t coming...I just assumed the worst. Not my proudest or brightest moment.”

“Actually, I'm honestly flattered that you assumed the worst,” Clark said, Bruce looking at him dubiously. “I know, it sounds weird, but it shows how much you care about me and how much you value being around me.”

“Of course I care about you and like being around you. You know this.”

“Yeah, but it’s just nice to be reminded sometimes. You’re not exactly the easiest person to read.” Clark’s words hit Bruce with a twinge of guilt, but the feeling was quickly mollified by a sweet kiss to his forehead. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way. I love you, Bruce”

“I love you, too,” Bruce said softly, easily, the words that once felt near impossible to utter now as effortless as breathing or donning the suit. He’d never tire of saying them.

And speaking of tired. 

“Alright, now that that’s out of the way, are we done up here? Will you please put me down?” Bruce requested. As much as he loved Clark, he also loved getting to sleep before sunrise. 

“Sure thing.” Clark did just that; he let go, and Bruce plunged straight down toward the ground, less than gracefully. But just as he was about to collide head first with the grass, Clark swept in and caught him bridal style, the big red cape enveloping around them both like a blanket. 

“I hate when you do that,” Bruce grumbled, glaring from his position nestled against Clark’s chest.

Clark snickered, flying up to the ajar window. “Really? I get a kick out of it every time.” He set Bruce down on the bed and climbed on top of him, a lecherous look on his face. “You know, I could maybe use some help taking off my suit…”

Bruce snorted, placing a hand on Clark’s chest and pushing back. “Typically, I’d say flattery will get you everywhere. But I mean it when I say I will be an absolute nightmare if I stay up any longer.”

“Yeah, and you’re already such a joy in the morning,” Clark said, pouting, something that should look ridiculous on a man his size, but it managed to come across adorable and precious. Then again, Bruce did have a slight bias. “That means we’re going to have to go for at least two rounds tomorrow to make up for tonight.”

“That's not exactly a sound argument,” Bruce began, reaching up to run his hand along the side of Clark’s jawline. “But I think I can let it pass. So long as you remember to let me know if you’re going to be late coming home.” 

"Well, it's not so much remembering to tell you, it’s remembering to hit send," Clark said, chuckling. "Because I’ll always come no matter what. You’re worth coming home to.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. Clark always found new ways to be absurdly soft. But the sweet sentiment did not go unappreciated. He leaned in and kissed Clark; it was a chaste one, but one with enough passion to (hopefully) appease his boyfriend’s unwavering sex drive until next time.

After they parted, Clark slid out of his suit and into a pair of pajama bottoms. They were Bruce’s, actually, but they looked much better on Clark, and Bruce secretly liked domestic implications that came with clothes sharing. 

Clark then rejoined Bruce in the bed, taking him securely in his arms and intertwining their limbs in a way that was comfortable for them both. He yawned and mumbled something incoherent before shutting his eyes, something that sounded an awful lot like ‘goodnight, I love you’. 

Bruce kissed Clark’s ever-present smile, still plastered across his face even as he slept. And then, at long last, Bruce finally shut his own eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. 

His alarm would sound in just over two hours -- hardly a good night’s rest -- but, if nothing else, it would be a pleasant one. 

In Clark’s arms, it always was.


End file.
